


All Kinds of Love

by MadDub



Category: Homestuck
Genre: All Different Quadrants, Alternate Universe, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Incest, Multi, Only Crack Ships and Rarepairs, Some of These Are Going to Be Kind of Smutty, Xenophilia, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2239965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDub/pseuds/MadDub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the prompts from the "64 Damn Prompts" on Live Journal, used specifically and only for Homestuck. All rarepairs, crack, or other things I ship with only one couple written twice. Is subject to change if I run out of ships (though that isn't likely because I ship almost everything).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2 am (Gamdave)

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I have other things I need to write and update. But well, I really just kind of want to dash through ships and write non-series things for a bunch of couples I NEVER write for, you know? I don't know. I'll probably update this more periodically though, just because I consider it my break.

Everywhere Dave looked, all he saw was skin. Bronze skin, sweaty skin, pale skin, gold, cinnamon, charcoal, chocolate. He was used to it by this point, enjoyed comparing the different skins, even, but it still came as a shock to his senses whenever he walked into work each evening.

Security watched over dancing and drinking trolls with a critical eye and crossed arms, muscles bulges, some bouncers human, others troll or lusus.

As always, Dave started off working behind the bar with Rose, chatting with John every now and again and watching the dark-haired boy sweep the floors. Jade was up in the DJ booth, apprenticing to none other than Dirk Strider at the request of his childhood friend Jake. Dave envied both of them. He'd turn tables any day over the bullshit the owners made him do on skin staff.

The night creeped in like usual, more and more trolls slithering in, cheering and howling and dancing. John swapped jobs with Roxy, taking her place on stage and shimmying out of his shirt and jacket. Rose went next, trading off with Jane after another hour or two, peeling off her clothes to reveal riskè lingerie beneath.

When Jake finally retreated from the stage and started walking towards Dave, he knew it was his turn.

Jake thumped him on the back as the younger Strider threw his shirt and jacket at English, who laughed as Dave walked away, naked from the waist up.

The thing was, Dave was rarely allowed on the stage these days. He was a good dancer, a pro at getting this rowdy crowd to demand his pants and body, expert at making the customers roar. However, it was against the rules to play Dave.

So instead of stepping onto the stage with Rose and John, he trotted back behind it, where thick curtains hid him and the space beyond the stage from view.

Dave shuffled over to a small area enclosed in a circle of beads and indigo silk, plush cushions in place and handcuffs hanging from a rod positioned a few inches over Dave's head when he was standing.

Gamzee Makara, of course, was already there, lounging on the cushions, watching Dave with hooded eyes. "Well if it ain't Dave motherfucking Strider."

"'Sup, chuckleboo?"

Gamzee sat up slowly, grin widening and vicious. He couldn't suppress the urge to shudder at the sight of Makara's mouthful of razors, flashing back to all the times when those same fangs made him bleed.

Dave always liked it when Gamzee bit him.

"You're going to pay for that, you blasphemous sinner."

The next thing Dave knew, he was in the Capricorn's lap, one clawed hand tangled in  Dave's beautiful locks and the other working at the button of his pants.

"Woah there, Makara. I know I'm irresistible, but you gotta let me catch up here."

"Like you need it," Gamzee snorted, pulling him into a rough kiss that ended with them pulling away with red staining their chins.

"Easy there, Juggalo."

"Shut your fucking protein chute, Strider."

Dave didn't return to work again for the rest of the night. As it was, it was just a regular Monday for the Striders and the club. **  
**


	2. Metaphor (Equnep)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not technically a rarepair, but I never see any works centered only on these two. So yeah.

The two of them were kind of like a metaphor, he thought. 

Nepeta was small and playful and loved by everyone, while he was large and serious and mostly stuck to himself. She liked to draw things pertaining to romance, he enjoyed looking at things pertaining to musclebeasts.

There was a metaphor here somewhere, but he wasn’t sure if he could puzzle out the correct wording, wasn’t positive he understood the title.

When punching robots and bows weren’t enough to stave off the ever burning energy thrumming through his veins, and sweat wasn’t enough to push out the anger and unsettling feelings his blood pusher pumped, he would turn to Nepeta, who would coax it all away with a soft pap and a goofy cat pun. He wouldn’t admit it, but he always liked her cat puns.

Most people thought he was a detestable prick not fit or wanting of company, but Nepeta always seemed to disagree. Even when it was her red crush telling her how terrible he was.

Their bond was a strong one--”soul mates” in human terms, he thought--and it could very well be the metaphor for the most perfect relationship being the most unexpected, or opposites attract, or something else completely silly and sentimental. Equius didn’t much care what the metaphor represented or begeted or painted; he liked their relationship, their closeness, the symbolism that was them. 

He just enjoyed  being  with her. **  
**


	3. Sky (Pale TavJohn)

The sky was John’s domain, as it was Tavros’.

Tavros wasn't as confident as John was, but the Taurus thought they enjoyed the Breeze the same amount. John was just . . . better at it. Tavros didn't mind, after all, John had more experience than he did.

It was nice when the human took him to the skies to teach things involving the Breeze and windy powers. Though their abilities were obviously going to be different, what with Tavros being a Page and John being an Heir, the troll still liked it when the other helped him. He liked it when John laughed at something he said or acknowledged him at all, really, though Tavros would never admit it in a million sweeps.

He couldn't help but envy Karkat and Dave, just a little bit. Those two got John all to themselves all the _time_. Tavros wished he could have that, but he was pretty sure he already ruined their potential friendship when he freaked out over Vriska and the ring of life.

Oh well. He could be happy with just this. He could. Really.

"Hey," John called one day, taking his attention from a tiny current of wind he'd been working with. "Tavros, Karkat told me you were pale for me."

"Gah! What? No, uh, that's not true!" Tavros practically yelled, panic and betrayal taking turns in his chest cavity.

"Woah! Hey, calm down!" John exclaimed, flying over with his hands held up in surrender.

"Are you, um, sure Karkat said that?" The Taurus questioned timidly, slightly embarrassed to have spazzed out at his windy friend--er, acquaintance.

"Er, yeah. He knows he has to be pretty blunt with me to get stuff . . ." John awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, Tavros, I mean if you're pale--"

"I'm not!"

" _If_ you are, it doesn't bother me or anything. I mean, you seem pretty nice and Karkat told me the pale quadrant was like, best friends or something? So, like, I guess if you ever want to--" he cut himself off here, laughing again. "This is so weird. Feel free to stop me right here if I'm crossing some sort of line."

"Uh, no, you definitely aren't." Tavros replied, pleasantly surprised by where this was going.

"Okay, good." John let out a breath as if in relief, fiddling with the hem of his shirt uncomfortably. "But yeah, if you want to, we could do diamonds. I mean. If you want."

"Um, yes, okay," He answered, feeling his blood pusher skip a beat, face heating up.

Be cool, Tavros. Be like Rufioh.

"Awesome!" John grinned, and Tavros was sure that for just a minute, the entire sky was a few shades brighter. **  
**


	4. Lost Scene (Pale Captorcest)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boop. Random prompt because I've had it for awhile now. Woo.

"No!"  Sollux screamed, running forward, though it all felt like it was in slow motion. 

His blood pusher was thumping out a frantic rhythm in his chest, it's echo pulsing in time to the beat in his ear flaps, ocular orbs wide and large, forced gasps dragging in and out of his oxygen bags.

"No!"  He yelled again, as if he could not believe what he was seeing, as if the very color of yellow frightened him.

Sollux dropped down to his knees beside Mituna's body, jumpsuit torn and soaking in sticky bits of yellow.  "Pleathe! No!"

The older Captor was still beneath Sollux's hands, his claws catching on the soft fabric of the suit.  "Tuna!"

"Sollux!" Latula shouted from somewhere behind him, her footsteps running up. "Oh my gog. Oh shit. What the fuck."

Sollux didn't respond to her, couldn't, actually. He knew she wouldn't feel offended, she understood what he was doing. What he was going through. Sollux would not and could not speak for Latula's moment of grieving words.

"Oh baby," she whispered, crouching on Mituna's other side. "Please, baby. No, no, no."

"Aaaaaand  cut! " Strider finally announced, releasing the three of them from their positions.

Mituna turned his head and shook with his laughs, sticky yellow blobs vibrating with his body's movements. Latula and Sollux both stood, high-fiving on another scene  finally  done. Shit, Sollux was pretty sure if Mituna had moved one more time and ruined the scene, one of them would have had to kill him.

"Help me up, Tholll," Mituna lisped, waving a hand around in the air.

Sollux rolled his eyes but snagged his brother's hand, hauling the other to his feet and steering the both of them back to Director Dave, who was already addressing everyone.

"Good work today everyone," he announced, earning cheers. "We only have a few more scenes left to shoot before we're done with this movie. For now, we'll call it a day, but I just want all of you little shits to know I've kind of enjoyed working with you, though it's probably nothing on how much you've all loved working with me. See everyone tomorrow. Have a good one."

With several chuckles and someone's warm laugh, the actors still in costume headed for the changing rooms while those who were done went ahead and left the studio with a couple crew members. The costume and makeup people stuck behind to help the actors fold and put up their stuff, but once the Captor brothers were outside, they were gone.

"Thith ith fun!" Mituna exclaimed, so excited that he slammed his shoulder into Sollux's, who grunted. "Le's do it again!"

"'Kay. But  I  get the hot love interetht next time," Sollux smirked.

" No!  Me!"

"Tuna, you know that'th not fair. I get a hot babe next round if I want one."

Mituna's shoulders slumped for a second. "Okay. Thorry."

Sollux let out an exasperated breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky above them. "It'th fine."

Immediately, Mituna was reanimated, flailing so hard he hit Sollux half of the time and talking a mile a minute, spit spraying and hair a wild mess. 

Sollux didn't mind. Honestly, it felt nice just to listen and watch the other Captor sometimes.


	5. Degrees (Rosekat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I'm doing this again. Whoop-whoop. (I actually have a couple of these already written out, I just never posted them for whatever reason.)

Karkat was cold as ice.

It was intriguing, to say the least. Rose wanted to experiment with it, see if he was only cold when he was angry (because that was the only time they’d ever accidentally brushed), or if it was all the time, or if it was simply a troll thing.

When she asked Kanaya, the sweet jade-blood told her it was all a matter of hemospectrum; the higher up on the blood caste the troll, the colder they tended to be. Bronze-bloods were supposed to be the most similar in heat and lifespan to a human’s, with all lower castes growing hotter and hotter.

While interesting, it only served to confuse Rose. According to Kanaya, Karkat and the other Vantases should have been warmer than a human. So why had he felt so cold?

She pondered this for a good while before it dawned on her that Karkat, ever the friendly (and angry) troll, visited Jade’s planet quite often, and spent much of his time touching his moirail Gamzee Makara, who happened to be an indigo-blood, and therefore extremely cold. Poor Karkat must have been constantly freezing, though he never said anything of the sort. It was a wonder the Cancer hadn’t frozen to death, given the circumstances. Perhaps trolls were cold blooded?

She decided if he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—do anything to solve his own internal temperature, she would simply do it for him.

It took a while, but after a nice long week of sewing and cutting and asking Kanaya for advice, she had successfully finished a black sweater with a gray cancer sign much like the T-shirt Karkat wore. The perfect combination of fashion, color, and heat-inducing for Vantas, of that she was confident.

Then again, Karkat was cold blooded, so the sweater might not actually do much good, since he wouldn’t be making much body heat. Oh well, anything that helps, right?

The problem was how she would present this to the hothead leader.

Rose kept the sweater in her sylladex for the time being, waiting for the right moment to give it to Karkat without seeming to awkward. She was surprised by how often the two of them ended up sharing the same room or “block”—though she had a feeling it was more due to Dave wanting to bother her and Karkat wanting to yell at him than any fondness for her on his part.

As it turned out, it wasn’t through those ironic situations that she found the right time—it was actually after one of the numerous “meetings” Karkat ~~and John~~ called, absolutely nothing accomplished and Karkat throwing yet another fit as everyone left.

Sensing her opportunity rapidly approaching, Rose forced herself to stall, whispering an unconvincing excuse to Kanaya and Dave as she waited for the room to clear.

When the last person trickled out, leaving only Karkat with his back turned to the rest of the room and Rose, Vantas finally seemed to notice her dawdling and called her out on it. “Lalonde, why the fuck are you still here? I thought everyone had decided this meeting was a lost cause and were going to leave to find something more ‘totally fun and outrageous!’ Or some shit.”

“While that idea is fairly tempting,” Rose replied, eyebrow quirking and smirk twitching across her lips, “I have something I’m hoping might make your life a little easier.”

“Oh my gog, _please_ tell me you did not actually bring me a weapon to end my life with, because I swear to fuck, Lalonde, it was only an inconsiderate joke. I don’t _actually_ plan to kill myself, you—” The way he halted mid-sentence and mid-flail was amusing _and_ interesting, like a deer caught in headlights, or a small, angry man frozen in the act of a particularly violent rant. “The fuck is that?”

“A sweater,” Rose answered, still smirking as she gently placed it onto the surface of the meeting table. “Kanaya informed me that trolls of the lower cast are actually quite warm-blooded, and from accidentally being hit by one of your icy claws the other day, I can only assume that your current external temperature is fairly unhealthy for you. Thus, the sweater was born.”

He looked at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds before looking down at the sweater, then up at her once again. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

His eyes narrow. “Why the fuck would you care if I’m cold or not? It’s none of your damn business what temperature I am. I don’t _need_ your pity, Lalonde.”

“I never said anything about pitying you, Karkat. While flattered, I simply meant to look after the health of the self-proclaimed leader of our group. If, however, this act offends you or makes you uncomfortable in any way, feel free to say the word and I’ll take this sweater back and leave here as if nothing ever happened.” Rose offered.

“Oh, hell no. This is your way of trying to make me admit I’m a weakling, isn’t it? You want me to admit my weakness to you so you can do that weird psycho-analysis bullshit you pulled on Dave earlier. I’m having none of it. Do you see this? This is me having none of it. This is me, pulling on your trap of a sweater to show you my superiority. You can’t make me back away, Lalonde. I am the leader here. It is me. I enforce the plans, I make the rules, and I make sure this bumbling group of fools does as they should. Don’t you think any lower of me.” Karkat commanded, yanking the sweater over his head and effectively ruffling his hair into something messy and slightly offensive.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Vantas,” Rose said with a sassy curtsey, smiling.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	6. Seize the Day (Stridercest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has some adult content. If you don't like that kind of thing, continue no further.

Dirk Strider was ready. He didn’t necessarily want to do it, but as the Prince of Derse, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, surprisingly. 

Everyone knew the Black King had the real say in things; Dirk was simply the planner and attacker. The Black King asked him for something, and Dirk figured out how to make it happen. It was what he did.

And though this time the Black King asked for more than Dirk was sure he could give, had a bigger goal that Strider wasn’t positive could be reached, he had no choice but to try lest he lose his head or his heart. He didn’t want either of those options to happen, and so he stayed late with Princess Roxy in his tower, trying to figure something out.

At the call the younger Lalonde’s violin, Roxy went away, leaving only trepidation and worry in her wake.

Neither of them thought this could possibly succeed. Prospit was too strong, and Derse simply not organized enough for a full-out attack-and-conquer of the other kingdom. It simply could not be done, not in any way Dirk could see.

A light tap was all the warning he had, but it was all the warning he needed. “Go away, Dave. I’m busy.”

A scoff, the sound of a body landing feet-first on the floor of the tower. Dirk unconsciously tracked his little brother’s movements across the room, footsteps tip-tapping closer and closer, until they stopped directly behind him.

“What’cha doin’?” Dave asked, moving around Dirk to look at the papers spread out across the table.

“Planning a war,” Dirk grunted.

Dave “hmm”ed as if the little shit was actually interested, his shades successfully hiding his eyes and his real thoughts, though Dirk knew him well enough by now to have a pretty good guess what the little brat was thinking.

He sighed, shoulders bunching up around his ears. “Dave, I can’t entertain you tonight. I’m busy.”

Obviously, like always, Dave didn’t listen. His nimble fingers danced over the corners of one of Dirk’s papers, lips pressed into a thin line. “When does the King want you to attack? Or is he giving you free reign on this one?”

“He wants me to start the attack tomorrow.” Even Dirk’s voice sounded hopeless, despite his struggle to keep it flat, monotone, and cool. 

“How’s the planning going without Roxy around?”

“We think we have all the important things,” Dirk sighed, “But it’s just . . . not enough. Prospit is too well guarded, too equal to Derse, for anything this impromptu to work. I’m actually, legitimately worried that this isn’t going to work out. Shit, if we lose . . .”

“You’ll all die.” Dave deadpanned. 

“Yeah. We’ll all die.” Couldn’t have said it better himself.

“Then we don’t have much time together, do we?” Dave questioned, stepping closer. The younger Strider’s cologne hit Dirk in a cloud of toxic, powerful smell, burning a trail down to the warmth coiling in his stomach, relaxing the tight balls of tension and alarm in his brain.

“No, we don’t.”

“Then . . . why not spend some time with me?”

Dirk didn’t answer, just let the kiss that was already coming happen. He wasn’t sure who initiated it, technically, all he knew was that it was hot and passionate and wet and everything he liked but couldn’t see normally in his brother. Was it wrong? Hell, no one knew and no one really cared. Derse was full of sin and dirt-bags that were much worse at “scandalous” than the two Striders could ever hope to be.

It wasn’t gentle, not in the least; Dave would never forgive him if Dirk suddenly changed tempo on him now, and Dirk wouldn’t have liked being with Dave nearly as much if they were always gentle and sweet. 

He liked it when Dave bit him, and he liked it when he left bruises on his little brother from holding the younger Strider too hard or sucking hickies into the slender column of his throat.

He especially liked fucking Dave so hard the headboard of the bed slammed into the wall.

It didn’t matter that this was their last time together; it was every bit as rough as usual, not a millimeter more or less, and without the slow gentleness that any other couple might have employed. Dirk wanted Dave to remember this, just in case. He wanted Dave to remember moaning like a whore and panting into Dirk’s sheets; _Dirk_ wanted to remember the sound of Dave, the flushed neck and rippling muscles of his little brother.

He wanted to engrave the image of Dave’s orgasm behind his eyelids, wanted to imprint his own into Dave’s body.

Afterwards, when they laid tangled together, spent and exhausted, Dirk told Dave he loved him.

“I love you, you freakish little twat,” Dirk murmured affectionately.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, you otaku freak.” Dave responded.

Dirk slotted his body to Dave’s, fitting his front to the other’s back and curling himself around the younger Strider, hoping against all hope that he could live to see another day, another morning, that if he just tried hard enough, he could somehow make it out of everything alive. He hoped and he prayed and he wished, but even then, sleeping next to his annoying but loved little bro, he woke up with a sense of dread and a frayed feeling of determination to carry the events through.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it, but as the Prince of Derse, Dirk would see everything through. And Dave and Rose would just have to watch from the sidelines.

 


End file.
